When the Stars Go Blue
by Midgitte
Summary: [COMPLETE!]Songfic set to Tim McGraw's When the Stars Go Blue. Logan knows that Ororo is hurting, but can he help her when she won't even admit that she needs it? RoLo.
1. In a wedding gown

Disclaimer: Of course, you do realize that I do not own the X-Men.

Time Frame: Post X-3

Summary: Songfic set to "When the Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw. Two months after the events of X-3, everyone's allowed themselves time to grieve and deal with their emotions…except for Logan and Ororo, who are haunted by nightmares of their lost friends, and must help each other to cope.

Dancing when the stars go blue.

Dancing when the evening fell.

Dancing in your wooden shoes.

In a wedding gown.

Dancing out on 7th street.

Dancing through the underground.

Dancing like a marionette.

Are you happy now?

Ororo Monroe had not allowed herself to sleep for the past two nights. The dreams, which she thought that she had banished by visiting the garden a month ago, had returned in full force, and this time she could not control them. They seized her mind even during her hours of consciousness, causing her to wander frequently from her work into the world of what could have been, what should be…what she would give anything to have once more.

The weather goddess had immersed herself in the day-to-day work involved in running a school; indeed, she buried herself beneath a mound of classes, paperwork, and stress. She could not afford to lose control on the job. After all, her work was all that she had, all that was keeping her sane. It was the only thing that could make her forget the past, if only for a few hours.

Whenever Ororo slept, the nightmares that plagued her only dealt with one thing: her weakness, her failure to see what had been right in front of her face and to use that vision to save two of the people whom she had loved the most dearly. Upon waking from these terrors, she always found that her cheeks were wet, her pillow stained with sorrow, her nose stopped up, and her eyes puffy. Crying made her feel that she had lost control of her emotions, of her body. And there was nothing that Ororo hated more than feeling out of control.

"Maybe I'll never sleep again. Maybe I can run myself right into the ground with fatigue and extra-grande Starbucks lattes," was the last thought that the weather witch remembered crossing her head. She recalled the way that the emblemed paper cup, full of steaming coffee, had wobbled in front of her eyes, then multiplied, and then gone black. Now, the coffee was nothing more than a brown stain on the once-perfect white carpet of her office, and Ororo felt the yearning for death more powerfully than she ever had. Instead of doing her good, her brief nap had left her miserable and shivering.

She retrieved her black leather jacket from the back of her chair, shrugged into it with the greatest of haste, and bolted from the room. Somewhere in the mansion, a clock struck twice. The sound barely reached Ororo, but the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning and that no one was likely to be out and about registered in her mind, and she didn't care; she didn't care who saw her running through the halls like a woman gone mad. All that she cared about was her destination, and what she must do when she got there.

xXx

Ororo fell to the ground in front of the twin headstones, each bearing only a name and a circled letter X. As soon as her body hit the grass, a lightning bolt pierced the once-sapphire sky, which had darkened with heavy clouds the minute that the weather witch had awoken. Ororo took no notice; her attention was monopolized by the two stones. With a shaky left hand, she reached out to touch the first one, running her index finger along the carved X, and then over the name that the headstone bore. She repeated this motion with the second stone, and then withdrew her hand quickly, using it to rub her right arm, which was covered in goose flesh.

Ororo's pearl-white teeth pierced the delicate skin of her bottom lip as she struggled to find words, the right words, any words at all. She swallowed and then opened her mouth, but nothing escaped her throat, so she simply closed her mouth and stared at the two headstones for the next five minutes, until, finally, the words just broke free from their resting place within her fear.

"I'm sorry…that I don't come and visit you more often. I…just…sometimes, I can convince myself that the two of you are simply…off on a vacation somewhere," she said, "and that you'll be coming back to us any day now. And…and I can live off of that for days at a time. Then something will shatter that illusion; I'll look at a picture, or think of some of the times that we had together, and that's when I know that it'll never happen, and that I'll never see either of you again…and all that I want to do is lie down right next to you and fade."

Ororo shook all over, and a sob caught in her throat, but she knew that she had to go on, or she would never find peace. Thunder rolled lightly in the distance.

"The dreams that I have of you are terrible. Some of them…some are beautiful; we're together, and full of life and joy, but they're still nightmares to me. They make me feel…like dying, and I lose what little control I have left over myself. Do you want to know what I was just dreaming of? It was a wedding reception, and we were all smiling and dancing, switching partners, and I switched from dancing with you, Scott…oh Goddess, you were so happy, and then I was dancing with you, Jean, and you looked so lovely with your hair done the way it was, and in your white wedding dress. And then you leaned in to whisper in my ear, with this big, conspiratorial smile on your face. 'It'll be your turn soon,' you told me. I think that I might have caught the bouquet…and then we switched again and you spun me right into the arms of…of…"

At this, her voice broke, and the tears that she had been fighting for weeks finally spilled over onto her cheeks. In perfect symphony with her emotions, as always, the weather broke down as well, sending droplets of rain to pound the earth, soaking into the soil, making the two headstones slick and shiny, and spattering the weather goddess, who paid no heed to them whatsoever. She simply lay upon the ground, bawling and beating the grass with her fists.

"WHY?" she yelled, "why do you send me these dreams, why do you do this to me? What are you trying to tell me? What do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Ororo's sobs continued unabated, as did the rain, and, from several feet away from her, the figure who had been sitting in the tree and mourning since before she had even fallen into dreaming, let out a low growl of the purest agony, and continued to observe one of the only friends that he had left in the world as she poured out all of her pent-up grief.


	2. Where do you go when you're lonely?

xXx

Where do you go when you're lonely?

Where do you go when you're blue?

Where do you go when you're lonely?

I'll follow you when the stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

So immersed was she in her emotions that Ororo noticed neither the tempest that they caused, nor the tall shadow of a man standing on her right side. For the first time in a long time, she had almost completely lost control of herself, and released two months' worth of grief, stress, and anger that had been buried but not forgotten within the deepest recesses of her soul. For nearly a half an hour, she lay with her face pressed into the ground at the foot of the headstones, taking her only comfort from the tangy, earthy fragrance of the grass.

He sat in the tree for most of the time, partly because he was worried that by coming down from the limb on which the seat of his pants rested, he would disturb her, but mostly out of morbid fascination at the scene before him. He had almost forgotten that Ororo could cry, though he couldn't see how he had. The day that the Professor died, a day which he'd chosen to lock up in the vault of his memory and only take out to ponder very infrequently, she'd soaked the back of his shirt with her tears. She had been so reluctant to let go of him, and he hadn't known what to do for her, besides allow her to press her body against his, her arms wrapped around his neck, and bury her face in his shoulder, until, finally, she'd let him go, and walked back to the jet without a second glance at him.

So much had happened since then, so much that had altered both of their lives permanently, and through it all, Ororo had simply…done what she needed to do. The only emotion that he's seen her display since Professor Xavier's memorial service was rage, and that had been during the battle with the Brotherhood, whenever that one mutant, whose name he had not bothered to catch, had unwisely decided to tangle with her.

Since then, at least to everyone around her, she had simply been the flawless picture of strength and serenity. She was a good, strong role model for the students, being friendly with them when it was appropriate and stern when she was required to be. As far as he could see, she was constantly working her ass off for them. Lately, he'd been trying to help her as much as he could; he'd taken up all of the training classes in the Danger Room, and even took to helping with some of the discipline, though he had previously been so anti-authority. He inflicted harsh punishments upon any students whom he heard complaining about the school or the way that it was run.

Ororo was killing herself to keep the Xavier School alive for them, and he wouldn't have any of the students thanking her with bitching and moaning, even if she never heard any of it. For his sudden burst of responsibility, she'd thanked him heavily, even rewarding him with the occasional smile. Though he could see that her gratitude was genuine, her smiles and her words were hollow, meaning nothing because they came not from her heart, but from the robotic defense shield that she had put around her, the one that could not be penetrated.

Until tonight, it seemed. While at first his attention had been riveted by her uncharacteristic show of pain, after about twenty minutes he got a sense of how rude it was, to simply sit there and stare at Ororo as she wept, especially when she was so private with her emotions, and was under the impression that there was nobody around to see her. Surely she would not have allowed herself a breakdown if she'd have known that he was merely feet away and could hear her every word, her every sob and moan.

So, he had carefully climbed down from the tree, hoping that she would hear his approach and say something to him; even if she cursed him or yelled. Of course, he could have exited the garden yard and left her to her thoughts, but somehow, he felt that such an action would be the wrong one to take, and besides, he was drawn to her. He felt sympathy for her pain, he wanted to comfort her in any way that he could, wanted to wipe her tears and hold her against him.

She had felt good to him, the day that they lost the Professor, comforting. Her weakness, however fleeting, had made him strong. She had been the reason that he hadn't immediately gotten up from his kneeling position and begun to destroy things. He'd had the sense that she needed to be close to him, to feel that his emotions matched hers, to join her sorrow with his, and, in a way, he'd known that he needed it, too. She'd made him feel that his grief was an appropriate emotion, since he never really felt that his feelings matched those of the people around him. Now, he had the fierce urge to do the same for her.

Upon reaching her side, he'd uttered her name softly, but she was unable to hear him over the pounding rain and her bellowing sobs. So he simply stood in the place that he'd taken by her side, waiting for some break in her weeping. It came about ten minutes later, when the shrill, wounded-animal noises that she'd been making tapered into sniffling, nasal sounds. Her chest was still heaving, but he no longer smelled fresh tears on her, so he decided to try again.

"'Ro?" he asked, slightly louder than the last time he'd addressed her. Her body went stiff, and she quieted in the blink of an eye. For a moment, she simply lay rigid on the ground, until he repeated her name. She sat up and looked into his eyes. Sorrow, regret, terror…all of these he smelt upon her, and he could place all emotions but one. He could see no reason for her to be afraid of him, and yet, there it was; her blue eyes were wide, the pupils dilated in fear.

"Oh, Goddess," she whispered, reaching both hands behind her and doing an odd sort of hermit-crab shuffle away from him.

"'Ro…what are you doing?" he asked, taking a step towards her. She shook her head, sending water droplets from the still-falling rain spraying everywhere with her short, ghost-white hair.

"No…no…stay away. Get away from me, Logan," she ordered, effectively halting his advances.

"But 'Ro, I just…" he began, but she interrupted him with a high, pained whine, a sound that he'd never heard from her before, and hadn't even suspected her to be capable of making.

"No," she shook her head, easing herself up with her arms, "Oh, Goddess, no." Once she regained her footing, she began to run, out of the garden and across the grounds. Logan followed, more than catching up to her until he saw her feet leave the earth. Before he knew it, Ororo was soaring above him, leaving Logan to ponder her actions.


	3. Laughing with your broken eyes

Laughing with your pretty mouth.

Laughing with your broken eyes.

Laughing with your lover's tongue.

In a lullaby.

The dining room of the Xavier mansion was always noisy and crowded at this time of morning, which was why Logan normally avoided it, preferring to eat his breakfast later in the day, when all of the students and most of his fellow instructors were in their classes. This morning; however, was different. He couldn't explain it, but he felt the intense need to see Ororo, if only fleetingly, just to make sure that she was all right, and he knew that she always took her breakfast in the dining room before her nine o'clock Advanced American History class began.

Upon entering the dining room, Logan was instantly overwhelmed by the mingling racket of conversation, argument, laughter, and, beneath all of it, someone with a boom box playing a song that he recognized as being "Hey There Delilah" by the Plain White T's. He shook his head and scanned the dining room quickly. It took him no time at all to find the table at which Ororo sat, with several of the other teachers and Ambassador Henry "Hank" McCoy, whom Logan remembered was taking a brief vacation from his duties as the US Ambassador, and had chosen to spend his free time amongst his fellow mutants. Hank, a large man with blue skin and blue fur covering most of his body, stood out not because of his outlandish appearance, but because of his booming voice, which rivaled even the giggling of a group of teenaged female students who sat at the table closest to Logan.

Hank sat in a chair at the head of a long table of teachers, the place that Logan knew was normally reserved for the headmaster…the seat which Charles Xavier had occupied when he was head of the school. Ororo had conceded her rightful position at the table to the guest of honor, and now sat on the left side of him, picking at the plate of Belgian waffles and bacon in front of her while listening to him as he spoke. Her face wore its usual solemn expression for the most part, but every now and then Hank would say something that would provoke the tiniest of smiles from her, and once, he even managed to get a small giggle from the weather witch.

As he entered the room and made his way towards the faculty table, he caught the attention of Hank, who waved at him and must have said something to the others about Logan's approach, because a few of the teachers turned their heads to look at him, and the weak smile upon Ororo's face left just as quickly as it had appeared. The teachers who had turned to greet Logan either waved or smiled, gestures which he was quick to return, and Hank stood up and strode towards him, but Ororo simply sat rigid in her chair, repeatedly stabbing her defenseless stack of waffles with her fork.

"Well, here's the mysterious Wolverine!" Hank greeted him, extending his hand for Logan to shake, "I've been here for two days and haven't seen hide or hair of you until now." As the two men shook hands, Hank chuckled at the unintentional pun that he had made, and when the handshake ended, the blue mutant led the other man towards a seat located on his right side, just across from the gloomy-faced Ororo, who did not look up or greet Logan as he took his place at the table.

"Well, my friend, Ororo tells me that you've been one of her greatest allies in keeping order at this school. I must say, I'm proud of the transformation that you seem to have undergone since the last time that I saw you," Hank said, passing a plate heaped with waffles to the newcomer.

"A lot of us have gone through transformations," Logan said, looking over to Ororo, who was staring at her plate of untouched food in obvious discomfort, "most of us for the better, but some of us aren't getting along too well." At this, her breathing became heavy and strained. Hank's attention shifted from Logan to his other friend, and concern for her was clearly visible in his cerulean eyes.

"I don't know," Logan continued, "I've been trying to change along with everyone else. I guess I've just learned not to be so selfish. I try to help Ororo as much as I can. As much as she'll let me, that is." When he finished this statement, he looked over at the woman in question, who, to his surprise, was staring back at him. For just a moment, he thought that he saw gratitude in her blue eyes, along with a small measure of desperation, but, just as quickly as those had come, they faded and were replaced with a hard sort of stubbornness, and she looked away from him.

Suddenly, a bell rang loudly through the entire room, announcing that the time was now eight-fifty, and that everyone had merely ten minutes to make it to their first class of the day. Moans and groans erupted from both students and teachers alike, and everyone in the hall reached below their tables to collect their bags and books, which had been discarded at their feet as soon as they sat down. The faculty table sprang to life, with almost everyone standing up, bending over to retrieve lesson plans, graded tests, and other instructors' materials before bidding farewell to their colleagues and following the students who shuffled slowly through the doors and halls towards their classes.

Logan, whose first class didn't begin until ten-thirty, went right along pouring syrup onto his waffles, and Hank, who had no classes to teach, took up another slice of bacon from his plate. In contrast to the two men, Ororo instantly came to life, throwing down her napkin and grabbing a white tote bag overflowing with papers. She stood up, muttered a brief "goodbye" to her fellow diners, and practicallybolted to the exit before anyone could call her back. Once the room had cleared, Hank turned expectantly towards Logan, who, upon sensing the other man's gaze fall on him, looked up to face him.

"Ororo is…not herself," Hank observed.

"Hmph…tell me about it," Logan replied.

"She just seems so…withdrawn. I know that she's gone through a lot, but she seems to be taking…everything…much harder than everyone else," said Hank.

"I know," the other man agreed, "I've been trying to get her to talk to me about it, but…she just won't."

"Well, then," Hank stated, "maybe you'll just have to try harder."

xXx

"All right, kids, good job, great improvement. I think that'll about do it for today, so you guys can go ahead and get your stuff together and go," Logan said to the three students whom he had kept after the final dismissal bell for an extra training session in the Danger Room because of their poor performances in class. These kids were training to be the X-Men of the future, and, while he understood that they were only in the ninth grade and that everyone had off days, Logan's philosophy was that it was important for an X-Man to learn sooner rather than later how to put all of their problems behind them and give their all, even when they weren't having "a good day." Besides, occurrences such as this would teach not only these three, but also their peers that his class was one of the most integral to their training, and that it was not to be blown off.

Once he was sure that he'd given the students ample time to wash up and clear out of the locker room that was connected to the training wing of the mansion, Logan headed towards the showers. He stripped thesweaty wife beater from his chest and stepped out of his jeans, getting into the shower and turning on the cool water to soothe his perspiration-soaked skin and pulsing muscles. As he lathered himself up and worked the soap through the dense hair on his chest, he couldn't help but remember the events at the breakfast table, and the look in Ororo's eyes after he'd made it clear that all he wanted was to help her. For just a moment, it'd seemed to him as though she were pleading with him, like a lost little girl who wanted assistance but had no idea how to ask for it.

He couldn't help but wonder where she was at that very minute, and what she was doing. Setting the soap back on its holder, he blocked out all other scents, searching for Ororo's, hers alone. He soon found the fragrance of vanilla and sandalwood that he would always associate only with the weather goddess. She was still in her classroom, grading papers or cleaning up, he assumed. Logan caught another smell from her, one that sent concern to pierce his chest like a dagger. Fresh tears.

He turned the shower off and got out, not even bothering with a towel. He shook himself off like a dog, and reached into his duffel bag to pull out his deodorant, a clean pair of jeans, and a fresh white t-shirt. After dressing, he left the locker room and strode towards the smell of pain and longing.

"Ororo," he whispered, voice soft and full of compassion.

xXx

She wished that she had never allowed herself to cry. Ever since the previous night in the garden, Ororo had been unable to stop. Although she had not been visited by another nightmare after she went back to bed, she'd awakened to find her pillow damp. She had a short cry on her lunch break, and now, as she stared at the stack of quizzes before her, tears blurred her vision. She wept without a sound, only tears that dripped quickly from her eyes, down her cheeks and neck and into her blouse, settling in the valley between her breasts.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that such an action would slow or even stop the tears, but no such thing happened. Ororo cried even through closed eyes. Silently, she willed herself to stop, taking deep breaths and blinking rapidly, until, at last,the tiny droplets of sorrow ceased to fall, and she was able to concentrate on her work once more. Picking up her red pen, she returned to the quizzes, making the appropriate marks on each paper and then scoring it. When a sharp knock echoed on the thick wood of her classroom door, she gasped and dropped the pen onto her desk. Her hand flew to her chest, and she took a deep, calming breath.

"Come in," she said, in as controlled a voice as she could muster. As soon as her visitor stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, she regretted having invited him in.

"Good afternoon, Ororo," Logan greeted her.

"Good afternoon…Logan," she was hesitant to utter his name, "is…is there something that you need?"

"Well, yes…actually, there is," he replied.

"Well," she stood up from her desk and went over to the dry-erase board, on which she had jotted down notes on the Civil War. She turned her back to him and made a show of erasing the red marker, "what is it that I can do for you?"

"I think you know," he said. The eraser fell from her hand, landing with a soft thump upon the wooden floor. She turned to him with a look of confused horror on her face.

"What…are you talking about?" she whispered.

"Ororo…stop pretending. We both know what I saw in the garden. I know that you're hurting, and I know that you're scared, but you can't hold it in forever, darlin'. I won't let you," he told her, in as kind and soothing a voice as he could muster.

"No, Logan," she said darkly, walking to her desk and picking up her tote bag, "I'm not going to let you do this to me. We are not going to have this conversation." She strode past him, towards the door. "You are going to leave me alone…"

"No!" he interrupted, reaching out and grabbing her arm. She jumped at his sudden movement, "No, I'm not. We _are_ going to have this conversation, Ororo, because you need it, and I'm not going to leave you alone until you talk to me."

"No!" she growled, ripping her arm from his grasp and running past him, out the door and down the hallway, to her bedroom.


	4. When the stars go blue

Where do you go when you're lonely?

Where do you go when you're blue?

Where do you go when you're lonely?

I'll follow you when the stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

Stars go blue.

"Ororo!" he shouted, in between knocks on her door.

"Logan," she hissed, pressing herself against the white wood of the door, "go away. I'm not going to let you in, and all that you're doing is drawing attention to yourself."

"I don't care. I'll wake up the whole mansion and get everyone up here, and I'll break down this door if I have to," he replied. Ororo shook her head and looked at her digital clock. It was midnight; Logan had been outside of her bedroom door, begging entry, for a whole hour.

"Logan, give up!" she said.

"No! Remember, Ororo, you started this, and now I'm going to finish it!" he said. His statement caught her off-guard.

"What?" she asked, "What do you mean, I started it? What exactly did I start, and how?"

"The day that Chuck died, Ororo. You clung to me, you cried like a little kid. Like it or not, darlin', you showed me that day that you hurt just like everyone else. You're still hurting, 'Ro…you're destroying yourself with pain, and I'm not gonna let you," he said, and the pounding on her door ceased, just long enough for fresh tears to spring to Ororo's eyes, "Let me in, 'Ro…just for a few minutes. Please."

She stepped back from the door and simply stared at it for a minute, a thousand emotions swirling through her head like a tornado. That day in the Grey house; she'd tried so hard to get it off of her mind, but now it all came back to her. The agony, the desperation, the feel of Logan's hard back, supporting her crumpled frame as they grieved together. Her hands flew to either side of her head, she swept them both through her white hair in awe, and then, as if in a trance, she walked towards the door and unlocked it. Out in the hallway, Logan tried one last time to jiggle the handle.

To his complete and utter surprise, this time, the door opened to reveal Ororo standing before him with a dazed expression on her face, and silent tears spilling down her cheeks. He closed the door behind him, and locked it again so that no one and nothing could interrupt them. She only stared at him, her chest heaving and terror apparent on her face.

"Logan…" she said, her voice squeaking, and then lowering to a whisper as she repeated his name, "Logan."

She collapsed to the floor, and he sprang forward to where she lie, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. He felt her tears soaking into his shirt, and she pressed herself against him, trying to get as close to him as she could. Her breasts were mashed against the hard muscles of his chest, and still she strained to get closer. Logan whispered her name gently as he stroked her back with his right hand, the other hand resting on the small of her back.

"I just…I miss them, Logan…both of them," she whined into his shoulder. He nodded. "I feel so guilty, and I feel responsible for their deaths."

"What?" he asked. He pushed her slightly away from him, only enough so that he could gaze into her eyes, "Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "I just…I've convinced myself that there was something I could have done…that I should have seen it coming and taken some action to…"

"No, Ororo, no. You couldn't have seen it; no one could have, not even Chuck. It was just…so bizarre. There was nothing that anyone could have done. If anyone's to blame, at least for Jean's death, then it's me, and I only did what I had to," he said, soothing her with his hands rubbing against her back.

"I know. I believe you. It's just so hard. I can't get over it," she whispered.

"No one expects you to," he replied, "all I wanted was for you to deal with it, you know, and to stop blaming yourself. I wanted you to be able to talk about it. I thought that it'd make it better for you."

"It has…you have. You've helped so much. But, Logan, I have to ask…why? Why do you care about me so much?" she asked, pressing her body to his once again. He kissed the top of her head and ran his hand through her short hair.

"Because," he whispered, "you're all that I have left. All that's left in the world. It's too late for Scott, and I couldn't save Jean, but you're still here and I can still protect you."

She smiled and brought her hand up to caress his hair. "Thank you," she whispered into his neck, brushing her lips again the sensitive skin there. Her breath made him break out into goose flesh, and before he could say anything more, he felt her lips pressed against his neck, and then moving up to his face to kiss his cheek. She pulled away lightly, her eyes smiling into his before she moved back in, planting her lips against his.

Logan was startled by this gesture, but he did not pull away. Her kiss was soft, slightly hesitant, as though she expected to be pushed away at any moment, and she gasped in pleasant surprise when he returned the kiss, deepening it, bringing his tongue out to meet hers. She breathed his name softly when they parted, and she began to stand up, urging him up with her. Her hand grasped his, and she brought him backwards, to her bed, where she pulled him down on top of her and kissed him again, more urgently than before. Her hands slid under his shirt, lightly tickling his back with her fingernails, and then ripping his shirt away with a haste that was almost animalistic.

Outside, in the star-spattered night sky, thunder boomed as she began to reach for her own shirt, pulling it over her head to reveal a white lace bra that framed her full breasts beautifully. Logan's head was spinning, but through the haze, he managed to come back to his senses and pull away from her. The look of pained surprise on her face nearly crushed him, but he knew that this had to stop, that nothing like this could happen between them.

"Logan, why?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Because, Ororo…I can't do this," he answered her, retrieving his shirt from the floor and heading towards the door.

"Oh," she said regretfully, her voice drawing him back, "I should have known that you wouldn't want me."

"You think I don't want you?" he inquired, "You're so wrong. I want this more than anything, Ororo. I just can't let you get involved with someone like me. Not like this."

"Why not, Logan? I know what I'm doing," she said, getting up from the bed and coming towards him.

"No, you don't," he assured her, "I'll hurt you, Ororo. One way or another, I'll hurt you. I always…I can't take that chance. Anyway, I'm not what you want. You think that I am right now, but you'll hate yourself in the morning."

"I won't," she replied defiantly, "I don't care, anyway. I don't care if I regret it. I want it. I need you, now." With that, she grasped both of his wrists, and brought his hands to her chest, one on each of her breasts. "Please."

"Are you sure?" he asked, "We can only go so far until I won't be able to stop myself."

She nodded and led him back to the bed, where he kissed her again before undoing her bra, revealing perfect breasts with nipples the color of milk chocolate. He brought out his tongue to taste her neck, and she was tangy and earthy beneath his mouth. He licked down to her bellybutton before returning to lavish attention upon both of her breasts, while she rushed to undo his pants and remove them from his body, wriggling beneath him in pleasure all the while. His fingers brushed against the waistband of her slacks, stroking the skin that lay beneath.

"Logan…" she moaned, "don't tease me." Promptly, he reached for the zipper and slid her slacks and white lace panties away to reveal the soft V between her legs, crowned by a well-trimmed patch of white hair. She felt his hardness against her slick nether regions, and her hips instinctively bucked away from him before falling back into their original position. He looked into her face, questioning her silently, and her eyes told him all that he needed to know.

He eased softly into her, and she gasped softly in pleasure as he did. Logan rested inside of her for only a minute, before sliding almost out, and then bringing his hips to crash against hers once more. Ororo's arms and legs wrapped around his back, and she held him with clinging and grasping limbs as he ravaged her, all the while whispering to her how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how long he'd waited and how much he'd wanted this. She felt that she should answer him, tell him that she'd wanted him for years, but she couldn't form words; the only sounds that came from her were soft yelps of rapture, which amplified as she came closer and closer to her climax. Finally, she was alternating between pants and squeals.

Ororo screamed and lightning flashed outside of the window as all of the tension and passion was released from her body. Her velvet-soft sheath tightened around Logan, pushing him over the edge until, with one last grunt, he flooded into her, gasping her name. Her head fell back upon her pillow as she came down from her ecstasy, delighting in the feeling of his liquid warmth inside of her.

She didn't know what to say to him after he'd removed himself from her body, so she simply rested her head on his muscular chest and allowed him to run his right hand along her back. Ororo was seized with an overwhelming feeling of affection, and she felt that if she didn't pour the rest of her secrets out to him now, she would never, ever find the courage again. She rolled over onto her side to face him, and he looked at her in concern.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no," she reassured him, "You did exactly the opposite. I just…I wanted to tell you something, Logan. It's something that I've been holding inside for far too long."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Logan, I…I…love you. I have since…since I can remember," she confessed, looking away from him. She felt his strong hand against her jawbone, and he turned her to face him.

"I know. I can feel it. You're radiating it right now, you know. And I think that you should know that I feel the same," he said. A true, genuine smile came to her face, and she snuggled back into his arms.

"How long?" she asked, "How long have you loved me?"

"I don't even know," he answered, "I realized it that night in the garden, when I saw you crying. My heart went out to you then, but after that I figured out that it already belonged to you."

His lips met hers for the last time that night. After that, they fell asleep in each others' arms, and when they dreamed, the dreams seemed less like nightmares, and more like the rest of their lives…together.

And in the now-serene night sky, two celestial figures danced together amongst the stars, all the while looking down upon the two people whom they'd loved while they were alive, and whom they'd finally succeeded in bringing together.

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and everyone who will read (and hopefully, will review) in the future. Just as a follow-up to this story, I have to say that I was in love with the song "When the Stars Go Blue" when I first started this fic, but I work at a small grocery store in a little hick town where they play nothing but country music. In the past week and a half, I've heard this song at least twenty times, and now I can'tlisten toit without cringing. What an interesting twist, huh?**

**Eh, well…look for a possible sequel some time soon (as in, after I finish writing it).**


End file.
